


The Tapestry

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Romance, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2008-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end of the Third Age, Haldir, the Marchwarden of Lorien finds himself, through an unlikely twist of fate, bound to Faelwen, an elleth, young in mind, and with much to learn. Can their unlikely relationship survive Faelwen's youth and sickness, or the impending War of the Ring?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Caras Galadhon - 2253, The Second Age**  
  
She was kneeling before a statue of Estë in a small alcove, her dark head bowed in prayer, small hands pressed together in reverence. The dark cloak she wore spilled over her slight shoulders, forming a waterfall of moss-colored cloth around her and hiding her size, though he could guess that she was very small - it buried her completely. The words she murmured just under her breath were difficult to catch and what little Rumil could hear, he could not understand. They were, he could only assume, of a language that he was not familiar with nor spoken in these parts. The silence that followed lead him to believe that she was finished and he moved forward to help her as she opened bright green eyes and lifted her head.   
  
"You won't tell," she said softly, "will you, Master Elf?"  
  
Her eyes, which lifted to his face, were wide and bright, ringed thickly with dark lashes and set in a face so pale that the redness that covered her cheeks seemed exaggerated. He took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet, steadying her as her legs trembled. He could feel the warmth that radiated from her hand and, truthfully, the whole of her. It was too much to be healthy, and even as he shook his head and said that no, he would not tell, he was regretting bringing her out of the healing talan. Even for this one, small favor. The hesitant, conspiratory smile she gave him called an answering smile to his features. It was then that he realized that they had not moved a single step.  
  
"Can you not walk, my lady?" A derisive snort was his answer, though it had not come from the young elleth on his arm. Faelwen, for that was her name, allowed her cheeks to flame an even brighter red when her eyes alighted on the source. Her elder sister, Merenwen, stood at the entrance to the small alcove, one eyebrow raised above a bright, emerald eye. Her flaming auburn hair, usually in a state of chaos around her aristocratic features, was pulled away with a ribbon, allowing a clear view of the exasperation that marked the corners of her lips.   
  
"Of course she can't," she stated matter-of-factly. "Would you, if you had descended down three flights of stairs with a nine inch gash in your side?"   
  
Rumil was not a particularly young elf, and his maturity, if not his age, allowed him to walk as an equal among those whose years rivaled his own. But Merenwen carried some quality about her shoulders like a mantle that refused to acknowledge any experience but her own. She consistently managed to make those around her feel like children caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. This occasion was no different.   
  
"No," he responded with as much dignity as he could muster, "I would not, Mistress Merenwen."   
  
A smile softened her features for an instant, before she turned blazing eyes on the young one who now clung to his arm most tightly, as if letting go would allow her knees to buckle. A glance at her revealed sweat on her brow.  
  
"Perhaps you should sit."  
  
"Yes," Merenwen commented dryly, "Perhaps she should."  
  
Despite the sharp tongue that she had prepared upon her discovery of Faelwen's empty sick bed, the stress at having found the youngest of her four sisters gallivanting about the Elvish city showed on her features. She crossed the space between them easily, on long legs, took the younger one's arm gently and guided her to a bench. Rumil's lips thinned as he noted the blood that had seeped through the fabric of her gown.   
  
"Mistress Merenwen -" he started.   
  
"Yes," she said with a sigh, "I know. "  
  
"It should have healed - it's been long enough."  
  
"You can not simply _heal_ from a wound gained from such a blade, Master Elf." The silence that followed was heavy, thick and uninterrupted save for the occasional shuffle of leaves that originated at his feet. Faelwen was silent, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, large eyes unfocused and unseeing. Her sister could do nothing, lacking the expertise, except to watch as the stain on the white gown bled further and spread to encompass her entire side.   
  
"I don't know what to do," came her hoarse whisper, as she pressed a hand to her younger sister's side, "I don't know how to remove the poison."   
  
"She will die if you don't." He said it as gently as he could, but instead it came out sounding like his eldest brother, uniform and matter of fact. Cold truth, he thought ruefully, rarely came out sounding any different, no matter from whose lips it passed or whose ears it was bestowed upon. "At the very least, let's return her to a healing talan - there she can receive rest and nourishment."   
  
Merenwen was quick to agree with his sentiment, but slower to move her. Faelwen was silent, though the strain of the wound could be seen at the corners of her mouth and eyes. And unless her sister or he called to her or bade her stretch a limb, she remained still and unmoving.   
  
"I have been looking for the two of you all over Caras Galadhon." Two heads turned to greet the latest visitor to the small alcove. The Marchwarden of Lorien stood half beneath the bower, arms crossed over his chest; his disapproving blue eyes first riveted on his younger brother and then on the fiery headed Merenwen. The ellon was an imposing figure; tall, like most elves, with a broad chest and strong shoulders, on which balanced a head made of clean, strong lines. Two blue eyes, icy and clear sat beneath fair eye brows. A wealth of gold colored hair, bound in warrior braids, fell down his back. Even dressed in the muted browns and greens that most wardens wore, he cut an impressive picture, with the unconsciously arrogant tilt of his chin, and the simple yet demanding aura of command.   
  
His eyes returned to his younger brother, "I told you to keep her in her rooms. You were assigned to her not to keep things out, but to keep her _in_ , dear brother."  
  
"'Tis not Rumil's fault, my Lord," Faelwen interceded; her voice seemed to match her frame, small, and ready to be blown away by the weakest wind, "I'm afraid I offered him little choice." Haldir lifted an eyebrow skeptically.  
  
"That I can hardly believe, little one." His eyes once again settled on Rumil, "Fetch a healer, unless you plan on letting her bleed to death before the poison gets her." Redness spread from his neck and colored his face as he nodded his acquiescence, before making his exit. Quick long steps brought Haldir before the two sisters, before he squatted next to Merenwen and pulled her hand, now coated with blood, away from the infected wound.  
  
"You do not help yourself by walking, little one." he began gently, "If you plan to heal that wound you must listen to those experienced enough to help you. You can not go running up and down the levels of the city with no care for your well being."  
  
Faelwen raised her head, finally focusing on his face, and lifted a hand to his cheek.   
  
"I am not so weak, Marchwarden. I will not be poisoned and the wound will heal on its own." He sighed and grasped her fingers, which were cold.  
  
"Not all the world shares your optimism. Tell me; what possessed you to come to the very bottom of Caras Galadhon?"  
  
"She came to pray to one of the Valar. It is an insatiable habit of hers." Merenwen replied, as her face fought between disapproval and a fondness born between siblings.   
  
"And you could not pray in your room?" Her eyes had left his face, her neck now flooded with the red of embarrassment.  
  
"The Lord Amdir told me that there was a likeness to one of Them here, so I came to look for it. I always feel closer when I can see a resemblance." She explained softly. Haldir let out a small sigh, nearly imperceptible, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Faelwen had come to Lorien on her own, riding as hard and fast as she could from the south, in Gondor, to bear a message to her sisters and the Lord of Lorien. None, save the intended, knew what the message was; only that she had, at the beginning of her journey, been caught just north of Sarn Gebir by a company of nine black riders, one of whom had caught her with his blade in her side. It was not the first time that some one had come with such a tale, and most who did often died. That she, so small and frail, had managed to make the full ride, nearing three weeks, with little stops, with out dying or succumbing to fever and infection was a miracle.   
  
"We will have to get you something," he said, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles, "so that you will not always be so tempted. Perhaps a miniature of some sort." The smile that lit her features was quick, but bright. She seemed ready to say something, her lips parted marginally, but then died as Rumil returned, followed by three healers, two of which were bearing a cot. Her lips thinned.  
  
"You can not be serious."

\--------

Two weeks. Faelwen had allowed herself to spend a full two, uninterrupted weeks in bed, biding her time as her wound healed. Rumil was often with her, and had spent enough time in her room that she now referred to the chair on the left of her bed as 'Rumil's Chair'. He often brought one or both of his elder brothers, Orophin and Haldir, to keep her company. And of course, the two of her sisters that were in Lorien, Merenwen and Aredhel, were by her side almost constantly. Still, two weeks was too long to go with out walking, or running or riding. She was sure that by now Argol resented her thoroughly for having neglected to bring him a treat for so long. She muffled a yawn and resisted the temptation to stretch. No one had ever mentioned to her how exhausting spending all this time abed would be.   
  
Soon, she thought. Soon she would be out of bed and astride Argol. Soon she would be riding to the Greenwood, where she would be able to set up another healing center. But not soon enough. This time she could not restrain her sigh. Her sisters were all warriors of a sort, and she, as the youngest and the most protected, was relegated to healer and, in many cases, diplomat. When they accompanied Eönwë to Middle Earth, she had not thought that Merenwen would choose to stay behind. And as was the case with many siblings as tightly bound together as they, a decision made for one, especially by the eldest, was made for all. They had become travelers, aiding man, elf and dwarf alike as much as they could against the encroaching darkness. Few had seen it in the beginning, and even less had wanted to. It had happened that even getting an audience with a person that could effect change was difficult. But now, with the sighting of too many evil things in too many places, ears were sharpening. She would have liked success from the beginning. But she had to admit to herself, some success was better than ultimate failure.   
  
"Wool gathering?" Frustrated green eyes lifted to meet serene blue. Haldir stood in the door way, his shoulder leaning against its frame, arms crossed easily over his chest. It was a position, it seemed, that he favored.   
  
"No, just thinking." An amused expression flitted across his features, before settling in his eyes.   
  
"That is what the expression means, dear one." He said, as he crossed into the room and settled himself easily into Rumil's Chair. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"You begin to the sound like the Master Healer." She commented with a sigh, "As if it matters. No matter how I feel, I will stay in this room until _he_ feels that I am recovered. Why bother asking at all?"  
  
"Are not _you_ a healer? You should be able to answer your own question." He pointed out.   
  
"I should also be able to determin when I am fully healed!"  
  
"Your prior behavior contradicts that." Faelwen threw her head back against the pillows, and stared at the ceiling beams, her frustration multiplied three fold.   
  
"May I at least walk around the room?"  
  
"Has the healer given you leave to walk?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then, no. You may not." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as if he were tempted to laugh at her predicament. But he held back, his eyes, ever calm, always on her. After long moments, she sat up with a sigh and pulled her knees to her chest.   
  
"You can not imagine the frustration -"  
  
"I can well imagine."  
  
"But you don't understand the-"  
  
"Faelwen, I have been a warden in these woods for many, many long years. Believe me in this, I understand your frustration at being confined to a bed for an injury. But there is nothing you can do save wait it out." He smiled at her second sigh. "Ah, I have brought something for you."  
  
Faelwen watched interestedly as he reached down beside him, where he had set a small wooden box upon his first entering the room. It was a simple thing, made of beech wood, with an uncomplicated engraving on the top of a tree, on whose branches was strung a banner on which her name was written in the Elvish script. He handed it to her and she took it hesitantly, not at all used to receiving gifts. Inside of it, on a red cushion, lay a small silver band, made for her forefinger. On it was engraved the name of the queen of the Valar in the Elvish tongue, Elbereth.   
  
"I realize it does not bear a likeness to any one of the Valar," he commented, "but it bears their queen's name nonetheless. Perhaps now you will not feel bidden to gallivant about when you are injured."   
  
"'Tis beautiful, Haldir," she breathed softly as she lifted it out of its case and slipped on her finger.   
  
"Yes," he replied, watching her, "it is. Pray, do not lose it."  She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled, before she shook her head emphatically.  
  
"Of course not. I will treasure it always." 

\--------

It was dawn. Mist clung to the forest floor, rolling lazily, as if stirred by an invisible hand. Cold dew clung to leaves and grass, passing easily on the cloaks of those moving towards the gates to Caras Galadhon. The morning light filtered in through the leaves weakly and lent everything a pale, other worldly glow. The air was still, as if the world held its breath, waiting for something of import to occur. Seven figures walked easily through the mist, three with horses in tow. Merenwen and Aredhel walked beside the Lord of the Golden Woods, Admir, talking quietly. Behind them trailed Faelwen, with Rumil at her side, and Haldir and Orophin bringing up the rear.   
  
"You three will be safe?" The Lord Admir inquired with concern. Merenwen smiled and bowed her head.  
  
"Of course, my Lord. We travel at an easy pace, are armed and will pass to Imaldris soon, in less than a month's time, where we will meet with the last of our sisters. Elrond has promised a guard from there to the Greenwood. There is little to fear."  
  
Faelwen turned to Rumil abruptly, cutting her sisters' discussion with the Lord out of her mind, and said, quite solemnly, "I shall miss you, Rumil." He laughed, the sound easy and light, and brought her to him for a hug.  
  
"You speak as if we will not meet for an age." She hugged him back, before pulling away.   
  
"Nothing is certain." His grin did not fade. He tilted her chin with his fingers, before placing a brotherly kiss on her forehead.   
  
"But we can certainly plan to meet again. Come, smile for me, penneth. I would have you go with a bright face." The smile that graced her features was not as bright as some he had seen, but bright enough. She turned to Orophin, who also hugged her and placed a kiss on the side of her head, before she turned to the eldest of the three brothers. Haldir held his hand out to her, which she took and allowed him to pull her closer.   
  
"You will be safe." It was not a statement of fact, but a command. "You will take it easily for the first few days and you will not go gallivanting on a well intentioned escapade." His finger tapped the frown between her brows warningly. "I would hate it if you died because you failed to follow instructions."   
  
"My, but that is a sending off." Aredhel commented with a smile.   
  
"She is right," Rumil said with a grin, "A simple 'I will miss you' might have sufficed."  
  
Faelwen ignored their laughter, and instead reached into her cloak from which she pulled out a large silver ring, made for a man's hand. It was made of several thin, intertwining bands of silver metal, which formed curlicues and scrolls, and often broke off into script, all the way around the band. She took Haldir's hand and slipped it on his forefinger..  
  
"The script marks the fourteen names of the Valar, written in High Eldarin. I brought it with me from Valinor. When you hold it up to the light of the stars, the script seems to lift off of the ring and glow. A true work of magic." Haldir seemed stunned, his eyes grown wide and disbelieving as he first looked at the ring, then her, then at the ring again. She beamed happily, pleased by his expression. She had almost not found it, so deep was it buried in her belongings. If she had not considered her four elder sisters her tie to her home in Valinor, the ring would have been it. It was the only remaining material thing that she had of that land. She lifted on her toes, for Haldir was a head taller than her, and placed a kiss on his cheek.   
  
"Will I see you again, Marchwarden?" She asked softly. Still seemingly stunned by the gift, he nodded silently, before swallowing loudly.   
  
"I think we will." 

\--------

An age and more passed before the two ever crossed paths again. Unbeknownst to Haldir or his brothers, the young one they called Faelwen took sick of her wound. In their own custom and in a fit of despair, her sisters put her into a deep sleep, and sank their youngest beneath the river in a crystal case, hoping that Ulmo and his music would have a healing effect on her weak body. It would not be until the year 2955 of the Third Age, when Ulmo deposited her healed body on the western banks of the Anduin, at the eastern border of Lorien, that the two would renew their friendship. 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end of the Third Age, Haldir, the Marchwarden of Lorien finds himself, through an unlikely twist of fate, bound to Faelwen, an elleth, young in mind, and with much to learn. Can their unlikely relationship survive Faelwen's youth and sickness, or the impending War of the Ring?

**Caras Galadhon - Quellë 3013, The Third Age**  
  
Faelwen stared at her bag, hands on her hips, right foot tapping in thought. Water would be at the campsite. She had fresh bandages, needles, thread (in assorted colors), a book, parchment, ointments, oils, salves, clips, and herbs. If there was ever a shortage of the last she could always restock, the forest of Lorien was bountiful. She gnawed on her bottom lip, aggravated by the feeling that she was missing something vital, but unsure of what.   
  
"Faelwen," Orophin said, deciding to resume their discussion, "I really think you should rethink this. Why not let some one else try and if all goes well, _then_ you may ride with a patrol."  
  
"Not now, Orophin," she murmured, her eyes scanning the room, "I just _know_ it'll hit me when we're five miles from the city and with no hope of turning around."   
  
The elleth let out a sigh, and rubbed the furrow that seemed to have become permanently engraved between her eyebrows in the last few days.   
  
"This is not a discussion I want to put off!" Orophin exclaimed. The irritation in his voice forced her to turn away from her bag and focus on him, her furrow to deepen, and her mouth to open so that she could let loose a tongue lashing. He cut in before she could. "Please, Faelwen. As your friend, hear me out."   
  
She closed her mouth and crossed her arms across her chest.   
  
"Oh, alri - That's it!" Her eyes had alighted on her quill and ink set, which she had started packing the previous night, but, for one reason or another, had never finished. Orophin's pleas all but forgotten, she rushed over to her desk, finished wrapping up her quills and stoppering her inkwells, before settling them in a side pocket of her bag, which was getting  increasingly heavier.   
  
"There." She said, with a satisfied smile. "That should be everything."  
  
" _Faelwen!_ For the Valar's sake, can I have a moment of your time?" Orophin looked nothing like his elder or younger brothers. According to the three, he had inherited most of his looks from his mother. The willowy build, lean muscles and delicate, nearly feminine lines of his face all came from his mother's line. His hair was a blond so fair it bordered on white and his eyes a dark blue. He was also taller, though not by much, as Rumil felt he needed to point out. Repeatedly.   
  
"Would you like some tea, Orophin?" He threw his hands into the air with a frustrated growl.  
  
"'Tis impossible to talk reason with you. We should send you to parley with the Shadow - you would force their surrender only by your obstinacy!"  
  
"What obstinacy? I have not resisted anything that you have had to say. Which, might I add, is not much." He sighed, the breath coming out through his nose in a fashion that spoke of how much difficulty he was having controlling his words.

  
"I," he started, enunciating the one word as much as he could, "believe that this idea is a bad one. No," he continued, raising a hand when she opened her mouth to protest, "I will have my say in this. Faelwen, you are like a younger sister to me. And like younger sisters, you are too often misguided.  You never fully recovered from your ordeal. The idea of riding out, with a patrol, however helpful it maybe, is not something _you_ should be doing."  
  
"But we can offer immediate treatment this way. The time between injury and treatment could mean life or death for some wardens." She objected. Over the past few weeks, this was a discussion she had had at least once with three people: Orophin, Rumil, and Cilmion, a fellow healer. The Warden of the Healing Talans had decided to implement a practice not seen since the Second Age; to allow healers to ride with patrolling wardens. There had been much protest, but in the end, his wish had prevailed. Like Faelwen, he believed time was crucial, and though Elves were faster runners than most creatures, and hardier too, being burdened by an injured comrade often boded ill. If, he reasoned, healers were on site, lives could be saved; long term injuries prevented, and good would be done for all. Orophin had thought it a splendid idea. Until Faelwen had volunteered to go out with the next patrol.   
  
"Yes, and that's all well and good," he responded, "But I would rather you not exposed to that."  
  
"I am not a stranger to war."  
  
"I'm not saying you are. But I would like you kept safe."  
  
"I will be safe."  
  
"Faelwen -"  
  
"Orophin." She smiled and tugged on his hand, "Rumil will be with me. And I will not go amidst the fighting. I will watch from afar, and when it is done I will go in and do my duty. I promise."   
  
He sighed - the second time in all of five minutes - and leaned his forehead against hers. Faelwen was always ready to make way for others, to concede, follow orders, and be obedient. She followed directions accordingly and when he, Rumil or Cilmion reasoned with her, she was always more than willing to listen. He could not understand why she had all of a sudden taken it into her head to ignore all their objections. None of them could talk her out of this. And they had tried; pleaded with her, bargained with her. Rumil had even challenged her to a game of Tolothanna, stating that the winner would have their way. And she had beaten him. No one could get through to her.  
  
"Why are you so adamant about going to the fences?"   
  
"Why are you so adamant for me _not_ to go?" Orophin groaned.  
  
" _Faelwen._ " It was her turn to sigh.   
  
"Orophin, I have always been a healer. When we first come over from Valinor that is all I did. I went out to the battlefields. I separated those who were living from those already dead. It was everything to me. I have a chance to regain that now. 'Tis important to me, _gwador._ "  He kissed the side of her head, as he had on that dawn many mornings ago, then reached around her to take her bag.   
  
"Aglor will not be happy to carry this load," he commented, then sighed, for the third time, "Well, come on then. Before I change my mind. _But_ , let it be noted that I fully object to this and will never forgive you if something happens to you."  
  
"Noted." She promised with a grin, and followed him as he led the way out of her talan.

\---

The immediate area surrounding the city gates of Caras Galadhon was a sight to behold. Horses, ellyn and ellyth all swarmed about the area, shouting, laughing, and calling out to one another. Snatches of song could be heard filtering in through the overall ruckus. Several wardens called out to Orophin, who responded jovially in return. He kept Faelwen close to him, a hand resting lightly on her elbow, and guided her through the crowd easily. As was her way, she didn't complain and allowed herself to be guided until a voice called out her name.  
  
"Faelwen!" She smiled when she recognized the voice and turned to greet Cilmion as he jogged towards them, a hand raised in greeting.   
  
"So," he started, throwing an arm over her shoulders with a grin, "I see none were able to dissuade you from your scheme."  
  
"She refuses to hear the voice of reason," Orophin put in, dryly. Cilmion shrugged with a good natured smile, before turning her to guide her toward the packing area.  
  
"Now, you must convince that wonderful steed of yours, Aglor, that he is not so noble that he can not be a pack horse." She laughed and once more allowed herself to be guided. Orophin followed after them, listening to their jests with a quiet smile. They were both younger than him, Cilmion in fact and Faelwen because she had spent more than half of her life asleep in a glass coffin. In one way or other both had become younger additions to his family and fast friends for one another. Both quiet, hard working, healers; both mischievous when one could convince the other, both loved one another as if they had shared a womb. They were almost inseparable.   
  
"Why does Aglor have to act as a pack horse?" Faelwen asked, as she rubbed the horse's nose affectionately.   
  
"He is much stronger than my poor mare, Riel. And much less well tempered. She can carry the two of us, and Aglor can carry our supplies. The wardens can't spare any more horses." Orophin smiled. It never occurred to either of them to split the supplies and ride separate horses. No, everything had to be done together. They rode together, worked together; they had even at one point shared a flet. Now they lived as neighbors and more often than not broke fast and dined together.  
  
"Orophin!" Rumil clasped him roughly by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "And Faelwen!" The smile Rumil gave his brother was tight. "I thought we had an agreement, _gwador._ "   
  
Orophin returned his smile with a weary one of his own, "Have you tried arguing with her. It wears the life out of a person." Rumil sighed and shook his head. Truly, he had no right to argue. He had bet against her and lost, and so was out of the running for trying to convince her to stay. Which had left the duty up to Orophin. Cilmion had not been overly concerned, and after voicing his opinion to her once, had retreated. He, it seemed, seemed to know best when to let things be.   
  
"She will not relent on this," he had warned them, "So let it be."  
  
But they had not.   
  
"So you ride with us, Faelwen?" She nodded with a smile.   
  
"Do not look so troubled, Rumil. I promise to follow instructions; so long as it does not interfere with doing my duty."   
  
"If you had not qualified it, I would have been much more at ease." He muttered, before excusing himself and his brother.   
  
"Don't worry, Faelwen," Cilmion reassured, giving her hand a squeeze, "Once we arrive at camp he will let it lie. Now come, help me load up this bag. By the Valar, I think I packed my whole stock in there."  
  
She grunted her agreement as she took one end of the bag and tried - unsuccessfully - to lift it. What had he possibly packed to make the bag so heavy? She asked, but he only grinned, replying, "Oh, this and that," before giving a heave and in one rough movement, managed to land it heavily on Aglor's back. The horse did not respond well to the load, and pranced, annoyed at being degraded from battle steed, to pleasure horse and now, pack horse. He turned his head to eye his mistress, who smiled apologetically and patted his neck.   
  
"'Tis only for a short while," she assured. He snorted disdainfully, clearly not believing her. She continued to aid Cilmion, collecting the small things that fell out of the assortment of bags, and calming Aglor when he would not remain still. Through all this, she continued to peek looks at the two brothers who stood with one another, heads bowed to each other, speaking quietly. They were absorbed in their discussion, hands moving to illustrate a point, whether in agreement or disagreement. When they settled, Orophin handed what looked like a letter over to his brother. Despite the commotion around them, she thought she caught the name of their eldest brother, Haldir.  
  
Instantly, her heart clenched in her chest. The pressure that mounted there seemed to do so instantaneously. Her breath hitched and a cold swept over her, chilling everything.   
  
_'Tis only his name!_ But still the reaction came; she could not stop her fingers from tightening their grip in Aglor's mane. Cilmion put his arms around his friend, having seen the pained expression on her face many times before. She turned her face into his shoulder, her fingers digging tightly into the front of his robes.   
  
"'Tis time for us to depart," he said, and she nodded silently, pulling herself away reluctantly. Riel was a sweet tempered mare, with a shining brown coat and neighed when Cilmion stroked her mane, murmuring to her soothingly.   
  
Rumil and Orophin finished their discussion just as Cilmion was helping her mount.  
  
"Be safe," he told her as he came forward, and then looked at his brother and friend, "all of you." He clasped forearms with the two ellyn, and reached up to kiss Faelwen's cheek. "I'll be on the fences in two days time."   
  
Moments later, with Cilmion sitting behind Faelwen, they disembarked, joining the quickly organizing group of wardens leaving the city.

\---

It took nearly four hours after leaving the city to reach the borders of their wood on the Celebrant. The journey was easy, and more than once Faelwen caught herself dozing off; the warmth that Cilmion provided against the chill air and Riel's smooth gait assured it. With in the woods of Lorien, the leaves had yet to fall, and though the air was chill, its inhabitants did not suffer the bitter cold of mid-winter. So when she did not dose, she relaxed against her friend and examined the passing scenery. She had heard once that even living in these woods the whole of your life, you could never tire of their beauty. She had lived here nearing fifty years and still she marveled at it.   
  
When they finally did reach the campsite, it took her several minutes before she realized it. Deserted, it looked like any other part of the forest. But when she looked closer she could see logs surrounding an old fire, knobs on the trees that acted as ladders to flets above, all small things that were easily disguised and dismissed. She dismounted, took a deep breath and began unloading bags.  
  
It had been a fight to convince the wardens that the tents were imperative. Large and bulky, they were difficult to transport from one place to another. But the healers had been adamant about them, citing them as necessary protection against infection and disease. That aside, they were not the decorous, colorful affairs some of the wardens expected them to be. They were large and made of the same material from which they fashioned Lorien cloaks so that they would remain unnoticed in the woods and its patients hidden from prying eyes.   
  
Once their tent's erection was complete, she set about organizing its inside. A small, collapsible table, cots, a basin of water, and the various supplies that she and Cilmion had brought were set inside the tent and put to order. It took longer than she had anticipated, and by the time she finished and lifted up the flap of the tent, the sun was already setting. She stepped out of the tent, allowing the flap to drop behind her, and stretched, taking a deep breath.   
  
The scent of water, of the river, pervaded the air. She could hear it, lapping up against the banks not so faraway. It drew her gaze, that sound, and after a moment she smiled. There was light enough left for a quick walk by the river. And she would be back before she was ever missed. She found Aglor among the horses and then rode to the shore.


End file.
